


the first touch is the hardest

by honeyvenom



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent Fantasy, Infidelity, Jealous Richie Tozier, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Praise Kink, References to Drugs, Richie murdered Bowers, Secret Relationship, Size Kink, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyvenom/pseuds/honeyvenom
Summary: A year after they defeat Pennywise for the last time, Eddie's divorced and finally out of the closet, which should mean a real shot at happiness. Where he can date men and actually be himself. Except Eddie's never kissed a man before. He's never been kissed, touched or fucked. Could maybe Richie help? The only thing is Richie already has a boyfriend of his own.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Original Male Character(s), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 434





	the first touch is the hardest

Eddie wishes he hadn’t come out tonight.

It isn’t because he’s not enjoying himself, and it’s not because the others have all been getting increasingly rowdy as the night's gone on. They all got rowdy as kids, playfighting in a pile in the middle of the clubhouse like a pack of wolf cubs, and Eddie had no problem launching himself in the middle of it. Where he’d flail around like a pocket rocket and accidentally sock one of the Losers in the face with a tiny fist.

No, he’s regretting it because Richie’s also here tonight. And he can’t think straight anymore when Richie's around. Not with him looking the way he does. Not with the way it kicks Eddie right in the chest whenever Richie smiles at him.

Thankfully, Richie's attention isn't on him right now, too busy making Mike and Bev roar with some anecdote about meeting Woody Allen at the Golden Globes. He's currently doing an impression of Allen, and it's so spot on - Richie making the nervous gesticulations and pushing up his glasses - and yet so quintessentially Richie that Bev’s crying from how much she’s laughing, beer sloshing over the rim of her glass.

Eddie forces himself to look away and back to the pictures Stan's showing him on his Canon camera. They were taken at Yosemite the year before, where he and Patty had gone to repair their marriage after he got back from Derry. They're beautiful, Eddie thinks as Stan flicks through the pictures, quietly describing the birds that came to their cabin every morning, looking for nuts and seed.

But it's so hard to focus on the camera because between the jokes, Richie's been devouring a plate of ribs for the last 10 minutes.

And it should be disgusting, with barbecue sauce smeared across his face and the way he's ripping the meat away from the bone with his fingers like a barbarian. Eddie wants to pipe up and tell him to eat properly, but the words die in this throat at the sight of him. Because Richie’s got his legs spread wide, and his thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the denim stretched taught across them. Because he’s wearing a blue t-shirt that’s being pulled across his shoulders. Because his forearms are gnarled with veins and the hand holding his drink is huge. Because his crotch is right there between his spread legs, and Eddie’s trying not to stare at it, at how big he looks, even soft under his jeans.

Richie notices him looking and his wide, goofy smile softens.

“Is Uris boring you to death over there, Eddie?”

Stan looks up from the camera with a glare. "I'm showing Eddie my bird photography. Not that a neanderthal like you would appreciate it."

"Hey," Richie says with mock offence. "I like looking at pictures of hot chicks just as much as the next guy, Stanley. Got any big tits on there?"

Stan squawks at him, totally aghast, as Eddie bites down on his bottom lip, trying hard not to smile. But Richie just rolls his eyes in the face of Stan's rage and throws a gnawed bone across the table at him, forcing Stan to shield himself at the last second with a copy of Harper’s Bazaar. Eddie starts laughing, but it quickly ebbs when Richie winks at him, the pulse in his neck speeding up to a fast _thump-thump-thump_. Richie notices the change in him almost instantly and looks like he's about to ask Eddie what's wrong when Bev reaches out to tug Richie back into her conversation, asking him if he's ever been to Eggslut.

" _Eggslut_? What the fuck is that?" Richie asks, as she dissolves into giggles.

The distraction gives Eddie time to slip away to the bathroom down the hall. He hides out there for the next 10 minutes, sitting in the empty tub and trying not to have a mini meltdown. He did this when he was a kid too. When his mom had been too much - either criticising him for spending time with his friends and coming home with dirt on his jeans or coddling him until he felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd escape and sit in the tub for a while, hugging his legs to his chest as she watched TV in the other room. Wondering, if whenever, he'd ever escape this place.

This time, his meltdown has nothing to do with his mom. But it makes him feel just as useless.

He knew he shouldn't look at Richie like this. It wasn't what friends did. But he couldn't help it. It had been like this ever since he'd met Richie in Derry again, as soon as he saw Richie walk into the Jade of the Orient and felt all the air get knocked out of him. Wondering all evening as they swapped barbs across the table, how that awkward, noodle-legged boy had become this big, broad-shouldered, fucking hunk of a man. The one who swung an axe into Henry Bowers' skull after he attacked Eddie. Who wrenched Eddie out of the way down in the sewers and shielded him from the Clown. Who afterwards, had carried him out when he'd fainted, and laid him on the bank of the quarry, like a hero from a storybook.

But none of that mattered. Because Richie had been dating a slender blonde called Stefan for the last couple of months, and from the pictures Eddie had seen online, he was completely infatuated with him. 

Stefan was from some popular DC TV show, the type of thing about superpowers and cute misfits on the run from shadowy government agents. He was also young and beautiful, an ex-model who'd swapped the runway for acting when he was in his late 20s, and an Instagram star who garnered a huge following for his softly lit selfies of him leaning over balconies and lounging around his apartment in nothing but pink sweatpants.

Over the last few weeks the internet had flooded with pictures of the two of them and every time Eddie saw one he felt his stomach grow heavy with lead. Watching them hold hands walking down the street, watching them laugh at Richie's jokes, and the ones that made him particularly sick, watching Richie's hands curl around Stefan's back as they kissed outside his apartment.

"Stupid," he whispers to himself in the tub. Stupid to ever think divorcing his wife and moving out here would have made any difference. That Richie would see him as anything more than the asthmatic, snappy-mouthed little kid who'd once broken his arm and never quite recovered from it.

After completing two of his grounding exercises, he finally feels calm enough to leave the bathroom. He wonders if he can slip out and go home, when he turns the corner to almost collide head first with Richie. Richie, whose hands fly up to grab Eddie's waist to steady him as he stumbles. 

“Whoa, Eds, steady there, cowboy," Richie says grinning.

“Shit, sorry!"

And that's all he can say before his brain short-circuits because Richie's hands feel so big on his waist, and at this proximity Eddie has to crane his head back to look at Richie. The gargantuan motherfucker who Eddie knew must have yeti in his bloodstream somewhere.

Up this close he can smell him too. The sharp cut of cologne he uses, and under that, the muskier smell of his skin. In Derry, he had been covered in grime and blood, and Eddie still swears he can smell it on him sometimes. His hair is a mess, as usual, and there's a dark graze of stubble along his jawline. It makes him wonder how it would feel if Richie dragged that rugged throat along the insides of his thighs, if his sensitive skin would break out in a sore pink rash almost instantly. Just the thought makes his knees tremble like some swooning teenage girl.

“Hey, you okay?" Richie asks, peering down at him," you look kinda flushed.” His thumb finds a naked patch of skin between Eddie's t-shirt and jeans, and he rubs it absently. The small touch turns Eddie to jelly, pulling his stomach low and tight.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired."

"Aww, not getting your beauty sleep, precious?"

Richie laughs as Eddie glares at him. “Seriously, though, you're looking good," he says with a little appreciative smile, eyes trailing across all of the new freckles that have blossomed on Eddie's face. "LA obviously suits you."

“Thanks. You, erm, you look good too,” Eddie mumbles, as Richie continues to rub small circles into his hip.

"Well you know," Richie says, flipping his hair back. "It's easy for a natural beauty like me."

"Don't let it go to your head. It's big enough."

Richie grins at him, and Eddie almost cries out when he takes his hand away. "So how have you been? Didn't get a chance to talk to you back there."

"It's cool. I'm doing okay. I'm doing some accounting work for a company downtown right now. And I've started growing my own herb garden. I'm hoping enough will have grown soon and I can start cooking with them instead of buying that dried shit from the supermarket."

"That's great, really neat," Richie says, though the corners of his mouth quiver, like he's trying not to laugh.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "And how are you doing then, asshole?"

"Ah, you know, same old. Definitely think that HBO thing is going ahead."

"Richie!" Eddie reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, immediately sucking in a breath at the hard muscle under his t-shirt. "That's amazing, congratulations!" And it was. Richie had been pitching that show hard for months. Getting it would mean the world to him.

"Thanks, Eds," Richie says. "We'll see I guess. Somehow they haven't figured out what a hot mess I am."

"Yeah, well you deserve it."

Richie gives him that soft smile again. "You're a sweetheart, thank you."

They stare at each other for a moment, something hot bubbling up in the air between them. The word _sweetheart_ branding Eddie from the inside out. On the cusp of it starting to feel awkward, they both blurt something out at the same time.

Richie says, "Hey, do you maybe want to get out of here?" just as Eddie says, "I heard you were seeing someone?"

Richie laughs, scratching the back of his head. "What did you say? You go first."

"I said, I heard you were seeing someone?"

Richie looks surprised. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Stefan. We met at a party a few months ago."

"That's nice," Eddie says, suddenly wishing he'd never said anything.

While Richie was out meeting guys and having a great time, Eddie had probably been at home on the verge of a panic attack. Since coming off all his medication, he'd suffered from them a lot more, with nothing on hand to dull the edge. Eddie realises now he'd been dulling himself for years. First with his job, then with medication, then with marrying Myra. Being in LA with none of that makes him feel as naked as a newborn lamb.

Richie breaks through his thoughts by saying, “It's not serious though."

Eddie just stares at him. From the way Stefan hung off Richie and stared up at him with that simpering expression, it looked pretty serious. He hadn't met him in person yet, but he'd seen enough pictures of them online to know.

"No?"

“No, we just have a good time." Richie shrugs. "You know what it’s like.”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably. “No, actually I don’t.”

“Shit, yeah, I'm sorry, that was stupid."

Then for some reason Eddie says, "I think I'm ready to date though."

Richie blinks at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I want to do it. Meet someone. Do the whole dating thing," Eddie says in a fast rush.

"Sure, okay, cool."

Eddie huffs. "Is that all you have to say?"

"What? No! I mean, of course you want to date, it's understandable. Stuck in that sham marriage for the last 20 years-"

"It was five years, Richie."

"So of course you're gonna wanna get a good dicking. And believe me, there'll be plenty of guys wanting to nut on that face you've got."

Eddie makes a face. "Gross, Richie, you're a pig."

Richie grins. "Hey, pigs are the most intelligent creatures in the animal kingdom. Haven't you ever watched a documentary? What kind of guy are you looking for anyway?" He suddenly leans further into Eddie's space, caging him in with an arm on the wall above his head. "Let me guess. Someone tall, dark, handsome in a tortured gothic romance kind of way?" He waggles his eyebrows as he says it, and Eddie's mouth goes dry.

He manages to push Richie away before he notices his blush. "Stop breathing on me. You smell like barbecue sauce."

"That's just my natural odour, baby." Richie cracks up at that, and it's the kind of laughter where his eyes go squinty and his buck teeth come out in full force. Eddie wants to frown at him, but against his better judgement he starts laughing too.

They laugh like that for a moment, making Eddie feel like they're kids again. Laughing at a panel in a comic they'd bought together, or giggling to each other after seeing a kid fall over at school. Even with the Clown, things had been so much simpler back then.

"Who woulda thought?" Richie asks when they've calmed down. "Duchess Kaspbrak looking for a suitor. We'll scour the land, Eds, and find someone worthy of you, don't worry. What's your shoe size anyway? We should get glass slippers made and leave one in each gay club downtown."

"Can you shut up now?"

"For a minute, yeah. I need to piss anyway."

"Okay, thanks for the overshare."

Richie squeezes his hip one last time. "Catch you in a sec?"

Eddie nods, trying to ignore the way Richie's thumb presses a little too hard into his hipbone for a moment before pulling away. Except he's lying because back in the living room Eddie makes his excuses to Bev, waving the others off as they cry out for him to stay.

"We haven't done that thing yet, where Mike picks you up and rocks you like a baby!" Bill says, raising his beer glass at him threateningly. 

"Jesus, that was one time!"

Eddie gets trapped in one or three bear hugs from the guys, and has to promise to call Bev when he gets home as she forces a container of leftover pasta into his hands, before he's finally able to escape. The night air slashes him across the face when he trips his way out onto the street, and he doesn't know what makes him shiver more: the cold kiss of nighttime in LA, or the imprint of Richie's fingers on his skin.

He gets a couple of texts from Richie throughout the evening. _YOU JUST LEFT?_ and _Feeling wounded, Kaspbrak._ But it can't be that bad because a couple of days later, photos of Richie and Stefan go viral on Twitter, the two of them hand in hand as they walk through North Hollywood, Stefan pursing his small mouth around the straw in his Starbucks frappuccino and a pair of oversized designer sunglasses perched on his nose. Eddie feels sick and sits in the bathroom for 20 minutes, his stomach cramping, wishing more than anything he'd never flushed his pills away.

He doesn't go on social media for the rest of the weekend, instead burying himself in books and his sprouting herb garden behind the small house he's renting. He ignores Richie when he sends him a short video of a grumpy brown kitten being kissed on the head, though can't help his small smile when Richie follows up with a message saying, _Saw this and thought of you :D_

The following week, he manages to get out of the office to meet Bev for coffee downtown. It's become a treasured ritual of theirs, meeting at least once a week for lunch just the two of them. They did the same when they were kids too, secretly meeting by the lake to talk about their parents, comforting each other without having to face the pitying expressions of the others in the group.

The coffee shop they go to is a little oasis in the miasmic LA heat, with leafy hanging plants and small tables tucked inside a nook just off the street. It's a favourite with some of the artsier crowd. They grab a spot by the window and spend the next hour huddled together talking about anything and everything, veering from the serious - Bev thinks maybe one of her intern designers is having a hard time at home - to the faintly ridiculous - Ben's been trying to convince Bev for them to adopt a pot-bellied pig. As usual, the conversation eventually turns to Eddie.

"And how are you feeling, sweetie?" Bev asks, pressing in close, her red hair smelling of sunshine and orchids.

Eddie gives her a small smile. "I'm doing okay," he says honestly.

"The LA heat not driving you crazy?"

"I'm getting used to it. The SPF 100 is coming in handy."

She smiles at him as she stirs her chai, but her eyes are introspective. Eddie always got the impression there was something slightly psychic about Bev. No matter how guarded he was, she seemed to have this natural ability to see inside him, always had since they were kids.

"And Richie?"

"What about him?"

"It's sweet how close you are again," is all she says.

Eddie plays with his fork. "It's good, you know, I see him when I can."

"Do you wish you could see him more?"

"Sometimes, but I know he has a new boyfriend now. I don't want to get in the way." He looks up at Bev as he says it, trying to gauge a reaction, but her expression stays placid as she drinks her chai. Despite her ability to read him, he's not always able to do the same with her.

"What do you think of him?"

"Stefan? I think he's very nice," Bev says, like she's picking her words carefully. "He seems to dial down some of Richie's more extreme tendencies. He makes him keep his place tidy, go to the gym, that short of thing. Which is only good for him as he's such a man-baby."

Eddie tries to smile, but feels his mood plummet, something swirling sickly in the pit of his stomach.

"I think I'm ready to start dating," he says finally.

Bev looks surprised, just like Richie did the night before. Was something like this so hard to believe?

"Really? Eddie, that's wonderful," Bev says finally, reaching out to take his hand. She pauses. "You know you don't need to rush though, right? It's only been a few months since the divorce, you don't need to force yourself to be ready."

"No, I want to. I want to meet someone."

"I'm so happy for you," she says softly. "That's amazing. Especially after everything your mother put you through. All those years of pretending to be something you weren't. This is a huge step. I'm really so proud of you."

"Thank you," Eddie says simply, and nothing more, because he thinks if he does he might cry.

Then to his surprise she says, "You know, I... I've been thinking about introducing you to someone. His name is Nico. He runs his own design agency and he's been working with me on the brand identity for the new line. And he's so sweet and smart. I think you'd really like him."

"Really?"

"Really! He grew up on a ranch in Oklahoma, so he has all these amazing stories." Her expression sobers. "But maybe don't tell Richie."

"What? Why not?"

"You know he gets protective, that's all. He might not understand."

Eddie shrugs, that sick feeling climbing up his throat. "It's not like anyone's going to want to be with me anyway. I'm a divorced loser who's been in the closet his entire life, with an anxiety disorder and a fear of cashews. I don't have anything to give anyone."

"Oh honey," Bev says, and Eddie can't help but lean into her touch when she reaches out to stroke his cheek.

"You're so beautiful. I love you so much," she murmurs.

"I love you too."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you. You'll see."

He nods at her, trying his best to smile, but he doesn't think he'll ever believe that.

Bev doesn't let the Nico thing drop, is adamant every time they spoke on the phone that Eddie meet him. She finds every excuse to drop in little details about him - "Oh, you should see Nico's designs, he's so talented", "Have you seen his Instagram? He did a yacht race in Croatia last year!", "Oh, Nico, did the sweetest thing today, bringing in cupcakes for all the interns," - until Eddie finally agrees to meet him, just to shut her up.

That's how Eddie ends up in a bar the following weekend, flitting around nervously as he sips from his glass of wine.

Eddie doesn't really like crowds, and isn't especially fond of dark spaces, not since that last night in Derry down in the sewers. But Bev and Ben are around somewhere, and so is Richie, who's currently surrounded by a small crowd of people, making them all laugh with some typically on-brand joke. Under the dim lights, the cut of his jaw glints sharply, and he's wearing a black leather jacket over black jeans, an outfit that's making Eddie suck down his drink a little too quickly. But Richie hasn't even noticed he's here. And why would he, when he has his new boyfriend with him? The new boyfriend, with his sparkling platinum hair and tight jeans, who Richie's kept close with an arm slung around his waist. 

Eddie's thinking about finishing his drunk and bailing when Bev jumps into his eyeline, blocking his view of Richie.

"Eddie, I'm so glad you could make it!" She says, leaning in for a hug. He hugs her back, relief flooding through him, when he sees a man standing behind Bev. He's handsome in an academic, Ivy League professor kind of way, naturally tanned with neat dark hair and a quiet smile.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone," Bev says as she pulls back. "This is Nico." She says it innocently enough except there's an impish little smile on her face, as if she hadn't been orchestrating this meet-up all week.

"Hi, nice to meet you," Eddie says, as Nico takes his hand. His palm is warm and dry, his grip tight but not too much. Eddie's eyes go to his shoulders: they're broad but not in an intimidating way, and while he's tall, he doesn't tower over Eddie like some men do.

"Lovely to meet you too," Nico says, in a deep, buttery voice. "Bev's told me a lot about you."

"Only the good things?"

"Of course."

Bev looks between them, looking delighted. "Well I need to go and find Ben, but I'll be back later!"

They both watch her scurry away before turning to look at each other.

"Well that wasn't awkward at all," Nico says with a small laugh.

Eddie grips the stem of his glass to stop the tremor in his hand. "At least being awkward is cool these days."

"So we're on trend? Excellent."

Eddie smiles politely, having no idea what to say to this tall, handsome stranger. 

But Nico eases him into a conversation, saying, "So I heard you and Bev grew up together?"

"Yeah, in a small town in Maine."

"And you also grew up with the author Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier? That's kind of wild."

"Yeah, erm, and Bev's partner Ben Hanscom. I didn't grow up to be quite so special, though."

Nico smiles at Eddie then, and it's such a warm, comforting expression that Eddie feels his nerves melt away.

"I don't know," he says, his eyes flicking across Eddie's face, "you seem pretty special to me." 

Eddie's heart trips. "You seem okay too," he says.

Nico laughs at that, revealing a row of straight white teeth. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'd like that." And he's about to ask Nico if he wants to move outside where there's a balcony area and they can get some fresh air, maybe talk where it's a bit quieter, when he feels a large hand press against the small of his back.

"Hey Shortcake," he hears behind him. And the voice makes Eddie quiver. _Richie._

"Rich," he says, turning to look at him.

Richie looks even more delicious up close. He's clean-shaven for once, his smooth skin illuminating the curve of his jaw, and his crow nest of hair isn't a mess. He's also wearing contacts, but Eddie hopes he has his glasses on him because he knows they make his eyes sore if he wears them for too long. And he's grinning down at Eddie, looking genuinely delighted to see him. The expression makes Eddie blink up at him stupidly.

"How's it going?" Richie asks. "I had no idea you were going to be here tonight, why didn't you tell me?"

"It was a last-minute thing," Eddie lies. "And besides, I saw you with Stefan. I didn't want to interrupt."

"Oh right," Richie says, looking like he had no idea he'd been here with his boyfriend. "I can leave him by himself for a bit." He looks Eddie up and down, and all Eddie thinks of is a cat that's just seen a saucer of cream. "You're looking really good tonight."

"Thanks," Eddie says, suddenly feeling very flushed. He's wearing an outfit Bev had chosen: a cream shirt, that he initially refused to put on because it was slightly translucent but which she insisted he wear, and a pair of slim black jeans that were way tighter than anything he'd worn before.

 _You look like a snack_ she'd told him, whatever the hell that meant.

"Can I buy you a drink? I saw this strawberry cocktail thing you're going to die for."

Nico edges closer to Eddie, making Richie's eyes dart up. His expression completely shifts when he sees him, the grin dropping from his face.

"Who are you?" he asks in a cold, accusing voice.

Eddie gives Richie a sharp look. "Richie, rude much?"

To his credit, Nico doesn't even flinch at Richie's tone. "I'm Nico, I work with Bev," he says, reaching out to shake Richie's hand.

"Uh huh," Richie says as he takes it, and Eddie watches, feeling like he's missing something as the other two men stare at each other. There's something icy in Richie's eyes, and Eddie feels the air around them plummet by a few degrees.

"I was just saying how crazy it was that you all grew up together," Nico says, finally breaking the tense silence.

"Yeah, that's right. He was a delicate little hypochondriac who wouldn't go near me until we were 10 because he thought I was dirty."

Eddie elbows him. "It wasn't that bad."

"I'm a really big fan of your work," Nico says. "Me and a couple of guys I work with went to one of your shows last year. You were very witty." He smiles pleasantly at Richie, but Richie doesn't return it, staring Nico down like he was a bug he wanted to stomp with his boot. 

"Well isn't that just peachy." He turns to Eddie. "So you're here with him?"

Eddie just stares at him, wondering why he's being so aggressive all of a sudden.

"I'm here with Bev," he says slowly. "Nico and I just met." 

"Well do you want to go outside with me? I'm going for a cigarette."

"Nico's buying me a drink, I can't."

Richie's mouth clenches, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "Right, well I guess I should leave you to it."

"Okay," Eddie says, feeling utterly flabbergasted. "See you later."

"Yeah, see you. Have a great fucking night."

Richie walks away without another word, not even looking or saying goodbye to Nico as he strides through the crowd. 

Eddie turns back to Nico apologetically. "Sorry about him, he's weird sometimes. You know what they say about comedians. Funny on stage and total dickheads in real life. I think Richie might have been the model for that stereotype."

"It's all good," Nico says, looking like he doesn't mind one bit that it's just the two of them again.

They start talking again, and Eddie's surprised at how easy it is as they strike up a conversation that flows from one subject to the next. He seems genuinely fascinated by the work Eddie does, and gives him little tips about how to make sure his herbs sprout up nicely. He catches Bev smiling at him across the room, at one point giving him a little thumbs up. He smiles, ducking his head, before turning back to Nico, who's bought him his third drink of the night. Richie, for some reason, has a glower on his face for the rest of the evening, standing moodily with his friends but not dominating the conversation like he usually does, and not even smiling when Stefan pushes himself up to kiss him on the cheek.

Eddie goes home that night with Nico's number on his phone. And a date the following week. His first date, with a man! Eddie feels loopy when he gets in, but can't forget the dark way Richie had looked at Nico, or the way he'd felt his eyes track them through the bar the entire night.

Richie surprises him by texting him early the next morning. _Hey, wanna hang tonight? I can bring takeout ;p_

Eddie stands in his kitchen as he stares at the text, wondering why Richie wouldn't be spending the night with Stefan. But the message still makes something light pop in his chest, like a froth of champagne bubbles, and he texts back a single _sure :)_ before he can stop himself. He spends the rest of the morning buzzing around but not really doing anything, cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned then making blueberry pancakes and forgetting to eat them, until he forces himself out of the house for a jog.

That evening, Richie arrives at his place saddled with food. He'd gone to the effort of going to Eddie's favourite Japanese takeout, a gourmet kind of noodle bar where you could get fresh bao and assorted fillings. Eddie takes the bags from him at the door and Richie groans dramatically as he falls onto Eddie's couch, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, complaining about the pilgrimage he'd been on for Eddie. 

Eddie just rolls his eyes at him. "Big baby," he says on his way to the kitchen.

"Yeah, burp me when you get back please," Richie calls after him.

"No fucking chance."

In the kitchen, Eddie cracks open a cold beer for Richie and takes a new bottle of rosé out the fridge for himself. He comes back with plates and the drinks, and folds himself into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up under him, as Richie sprawls next to him lazily. It reminds Eddie of when they were kids: when Richie took up entire rooms with his loud voice and big, bold personality while Eddie curled up beside him, always finding space next to Richie no matter how small it was.

Eddie makes a face at the movie Richie's chosen: some gross, B-movie slasher paused on his TV. 

"You know this movie's going to be fucking trash, right?" he says, as he pops upon the take-out containers.

"That's why it's gonna be fun, Eds! Let your hair down a bit."

Eddie shakes his head, letting a fond smile slip onto his face.

"I can't believe you're going to be making a show for HBO when you have zero taste." He rounds on Richie, pointing a chopstick in his face. "I could tell everyone you know, what a faker you are. Acting like a bigshot writer and director when all you want to do is watch shit."

"Oh no, the duchess has fangs," Richie mocks.

"I mean it, Trashmouth. You'll be dog chow when I'm done with you."

Richie grins at the chopstick in Eddie's hand. "Oh yeah, you gonna take me on, Kaspbrak?"

"You know I can smoke you," Eddie says, deathly serious, inching the chopstick closer until it presses against Richie's neck like the tip of a knife. He expects Richie to play along, to throw himself back in mock horror and beg Eddie to spare his life. But to Eddie's surprise, he just shifts closer, the chopstick making an indent in his neck, as he leans into Eddie's space, their noses almost touching.

"Hey, I've got a better idea," he says, looking at Eddie's lips. "Why don't we take our shirts off and kiss?"

Eddie gasps, the memory surging forward: the group of them reunited at the Jade of the Orient, roaring drunk, Eddie giddy from too much cheap wine and the thrill of seeing Richie again, clasping their hands together and demanding that they kiss. It had been a stupid, clumsy moment, and one that had haunted him the entire time they were in Derry. Because Eddie had never said something like that to a man before, and the second he said it, he'd wanted it, feeling the first lick of desire he'd had in years. He touched himself in his room that night, thinking about Richie barging in and grabbing at him with those hands. About forcing him down to the bed covers and making Eddie's small body take his cock inside. The one he'd been looking at all night as Richie spread his legs in his chair, looking like he had the biggest fucking dick in the world and he knew it.

Eddie had come embarrassingly quickly after that, moaning against his pillow as he fisted his dick a little too roughly, and the next day had hardly been able to look Richie in the eye. At least fighting for their lives meant he didn't have much time to be embarrassed.

But it was a mistake to get lost in memories because Richie uses the distraction to grab the chopsticks from him. Before Eddie can recover, Richie's shoves him back onto the couch and presses the chopstick to Eddie's neck, their positions completely reversed. 

"Cheater," Eddie says hoarsely, his heart thumping as Richie looms over him.

Richie just smiles. "You gotta learn, Eds. I'm the one in charge."

Eddie swallows, thoughts going thick and staticky. But he yelps when Richie leans in to lick his nose playfully, pushing him away before he can bridge the distance. Richie laughs as he sits back up, using one long arm to pull Eddie with him. He does it so easily too, like Eddie's nothing more than a ragdoll to be pulled around. Like how he'd picked Eddie up in the sewers, carrying him out like he weighed nothing at all.

"Truce?" he asks, offering the chopstick to Eddie.

"Truce," Eddie agrees, relieved when Richie turns back to the TV so he can't see his flaming-red face.

They spend the next half hour eating in companionable silence, the schlocky movie playing out in the background. For such a clumsy, oversized man, Richie was a master at assembling the perfect bao, and Eddie lets himself sit back and be passed food, munching on steamed buns and then requesting another when he was done. But his eyes are soon sliding away from the garbage movie to stare at Richie, who's sitting on the edge of the couch with his back to him. And Eddie is struck again by how big and broad Richie is now, how strong his back muscles look bunched up under his shirt. He thinks of the way Richie had swung that axe, how it felt watching him across the room as he attacked Bowers, the blood splattering across his face as the axe struck Bowers in the head. And all because Bowers had hurt Eddie. Richie hadn't even paused.

"Richie," he says suddenly, voice tight.

"Yeah, baby?" Richie asks, eyes still glued to the TV as he eats.

Eddie's stomach tightens at the pet name. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Yeah of course."

"What did you think of Nico?"

"Who?" Richie asks, in a tone that means he knows exactly who Eddie's talking about.

"You know, Bev's friend from last night," Eddie says, playing along for now.

"Oh yeah, he seemed nice," he says, before biting into his bao again.

Coming from anyone else, it would have been a pleasant, forgettable remark. But Eddie knows Richie. And he knows if it's one thing Richie detested more than anything it was the idea of being nice. Nice to Richie meant excruciatingly boring, it meant staid, it meant safe. It meant stay-at-home-and-just-fucking-die dull. There wasn't anything worse for Richie than the idea of being labelled nice.

Eddie pauses before saying, "He's asked me on a date."

Richie doesn't answer for a moment. Just chews and stares at the TV.

"That's great," he says finally, his tone mild. "I'm happy for you, you deserve it." 

Eddie shuffles on the couch until he's hugging his knees to his chest. For some reason his heart is racing. "I'm nervous about it though."

"Why? He'll probably take you to do mini golf, or whatever it is ex-water polo champions do."

Eddie stares at the back of Richie's head. He'd never mentioned Nico had played water polo before moving to LA.

"I don't know how to kiss," he says before he can stop himself.

He regrets it instantly, watching Richie's back go still; the way he stops eating. He stays frozen like that for a moment before turning to look at Eddie, one side of his face bulging with food like a hamster. Eddie would laugh if he wasn't so mortified. 

"What?"

Eddie flushes under the attention, grabs a cushion to play with so he has something to do with his hands.

"Erm, forget about it. I didn't mean to say that."

Richie swallows the mouthful of bao with an audible gulp. "No, tell me what you just said."

"I mean, I, I've kissed before, obviously. But not recently. And never with a man."

"Okay?" Richie says, sounding hoarse.

"Like... what if he thinks I'm bad at it?"

Richie's eyes flicker to his mouth for a second. "I really doubt that."

"But how do you know?"

"I just do, okay?"

"I'm like that fucking stupid movie, The 40-Year-Old Virgin."

Richie scoffs. "Yeah, but it's not like... you're not a virgin, Eds, I mean..."

He trails off at the pinched look on Eddie's face. "Eddie, what-"

"I'm not a virgin!" Eddie says quickly. "Like, not a virgin-virgin."

"Eddie, what does that mean? Didn't you and Myra ever do it?"

"Not really? I mean, we tried, but I could never..." he trails off, cheeks flooding red with humiliation. 

Richie's expression softens. "What about in college? Or afterwards?"

"I mean, once or twice." Eddie's mouth twists as he thinks about it. "A girl took me back to her dorm once after a party. And we- we were able to do it because she did certain stuff I liked, but I kinda hated it the entire time. I never wanted to do it again."

"Ah, fuck, baby," Richie says, with an unbearably sad expression.

Eddie looks away from him, arms tightening around his knees. "Don't make fun of me, please."

He jumps slightly when he feels Richie's fingers on his chin, brushing against his skin in a soft sweep. "Sweetheart, look me," he says.

"No," Eddie says, trying to jerk away from Richie's hand. But Richie doesn't let him loose, instead tightening his grip on Eddie's chin until he's forced to look back at him. Eddie winces slightly at the feeling of his fingers digging into the skin around his mouth.

"I said look at me," Richie says in a harsh tone. "Don't do that avoidant shit." His grip softens. "I'm not going to make fun of you, okay?" he murmurs, as he brushes his thumb across Eddie's chin. "None of this is your fault."

Eddie can't help but lean into the touch. Ever since Derry, since Richie had hurled himself in front of Eddie to shield him from the Clown, the only thing that ever made him feel safe, that calmed the storm inside Eddie's head, was Richie. That's why he had come to LA. That's what had convinced him to divorce Myra and be honest with himself about his sexuality for the first time in his life. Two days with Richie had done all of that.

"But how were you able to do it? You've been having sex with guys for years."

Richie tuts at him. "We're all different, baby, don't compare us. And I wasn't raised by a homophobic bitch-demon mother."

Eddie stiffens. "Don't talk about her like that, Richie," he says, as Richie sighs.

"I'm sorry, you know what I mean. I get so mad when people treat you like shit. And you know how fucking proud I am of you right? You divorced that bitch, you came out, you hurled that piece of fucking fence or whatever it was at that motherfucker in the sewers. Jesus, you're amazing."

"I'm not, Richie..."

"You are. You're incredible."

And something breaks inside of Eddie at that. The last small, fragile dam he has between his rational mind and that deep well of want that trembled in the back of his head. Because how could Richie be all these things at once? How could he be the loud-mouth idiot, and the man who killed Henry Bowers in cold blood, and this? This soft-smiled creature with the warm hands, brushing his thumb in a comforting little circle across his chin.

"Richie," he blurts, feeling weak. "I was thinking, could you help me?"

Richie stops the repetitive petting, looking confused. "Help you?"

"Like, I was thinking you could, maybe, teach me?"

Richie continues to stare at him like he's speaking in another language.

"You know..." Eddie presses on. "How to kiss and stuff?"

Richie reels back, his hand dropping from Eddie's chin. "Eddie, I'm- I mean..."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, regret and embarrassment slamming into him in one big red-hot mess. God, what a fucking stupid _idiot_ he was.

"It's fucking stupid, I'm sorry," he says. He unfolds his legs, intending to get off the couch and go to his room and never leave the house again. Except Richie doesn't let him, pulling him back down with a firm grip on his arm before he can even get his feet on the floor. Eddie goes to push him away, but Richie stops him, placing a hand in the centre of his chest and pushing him back against the couch.

The touch instantly grounds Eddie. Like it always did when they were kids. When Eddie would be winding himself up to a panic attack over the stupidest little thing and Richie would hold him tightly, his arms a vice around Eddie's small frame, until he finally relaxed.

"Sweetheart, take it easy," he says. "Stop acting so fucking spooked."

But Eddie shakes his head. "It's not okay, Richie, I know you're in a relationship, it's stupid and selfish of me-"

"Baby, you're panicking stop it." Richie starfishes his hand out in the middle of Eddie's chest. "Just shut up and listen to me. You don't know what I'm going to say." He sits back and runs a hand through his hair, but keeps Eddie caged in at the back of the couch so he can't flee.

"Look, Stefan and I aren't in a relationship. It's open, I told you that."

"I know but he's obviously crazy about you. And why wouldn't he be, I mean-"

He clamps his mouth shut before he can go any further. 

Richie gives him a look. "What?"

"Nothing, forget it."

"The point is, I could, I mean-"

Eddie waves his hands in front of Richie to stop him. "No, don't. I think I should ask someone else."

"Who?"

"Maybe Bill? I mean, him and Audra have taken a break so maybe-"

Richie's face twists like he's been sucking on a lemon. "Bill? Are you fucking kidding? Bill can't kiss to save his fucking life. Do you remember those stories about him at school? When he kissed Hayley? She spread that story around school about how gross it was? That he drooled constantly?"

"Oh my god, Richie, that was 25 years go."

"I'm just saying. You should learn from someone who knows what he's doing. And isn't going to fucking drown you in spit. Besides, you don't want to ask Bill. He sees you like a little brother, it'd be weird."

"And what do you see me as?" It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip.

But Richie just smiles mischievously. "Changeling," he says smoothly, "definitely a demon baby, no other reason for that tiny little pixie body."

Eddie gawps at him. "I'm almost 5'5, Richie!"

"Right," Richie says, grinning. "And I'm really proud of you for sprouting up another two inches since we were kids." His expression grows serious again. "And this is all because of that guy from last night? Nick what's-his-face-"

"It's Nico!"

"Whatever, how the fuck am I supposed to know what his name is?" Richie says sharply. "But this is so you can kiss him?"

Eddie feels himself flush, gets his knees between his arms again so he has something to hold onto. "Would that really be so bad? What if we go out and he wants to kiss me and I can't? What if he thinks I'm a stupid baby who doesn't even know how to do that?"

Richie looks at him for a moment, his eyes dark and guarded. "Okay," he says finally. "I can help. Besides, it's kinda obvious right?"

"Why?"

"With me being your first kiss and all."

"Oh man." Eddie throws his head back against the couch. "How can you call that a kiss, Rich? You almost bit my mouth off."

"It was hot though," Richie says with a smirk.

"Shut up."

Richie had been his first kiss, it's true. It had happened on the day of the sewers in '89, when they had crawled out above ground, loopy from still being alive and a gorgeous, pure spark of childhood. Eddie had done it without thinking about it, had grabbed Richie's face by the lake and kissed him, crushing his small body to Richie's, as Richie stood there, frozen, eyes wide. When Eddie had pulled away, a thread of doubt snaking through his joy, Richie had just pulled him back in. Except their next kiss wasn't what you'd really call a kiss. Because Richie had opened his mouth and bitten down hard on Eddie's bottom lip, making him yelp and stumble away. _What the hell are you doing?_ he'd asked, frantically checking his face for blood. But Richie had just stared at him, flushed. _I'm sorry_ , is all he'd said as he stared at Eddie's apple-red mouth.

It had been their first and last kiss.

"Well when should we do it then?" Eddie asks now." "Maybe when we hang out next week?"

"Nah, I'm thinking we should do it now."

Eddie feels his eyes go wide. "Right now?"

"Yeah, why not? No time like the present and all that."

"But I need to prepare," Eddie says, a bubble of panic rising in his chest. "I need to do things first, be ready."

"Jesus, it's a kiss, Eddie, there isn't a checklist involved."

"I know, but-" His sentence cuts off when Richie sits closer. Their thighs touch, and suddenly all Eddie can think about is the feel of his naked skin pressed up against the rough denim of Richie's jeans. How dark his stubble looks against the pale arch of his face.

"Stop talking," Richie says softly. "Stop talking and let me do this for you, okay?"

"What about the bao?"

"Forget about the fucking bao."

Eddie nods, all potential arguments evaporating at the sight of Richie's mouth and the ice-water blue of his eyes. Richie slides an arm behind him at the back of the couch, the movie playing out on the TV behind them completely forgotten.

"So," Richie says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I'm guessing he's going to want to kiss you after your first date. Or maybe even during it. Like, he's going to take you out for dinner, some fancy fucking place where he'll buy you lobster, and then afterwards he'll want to go for a drink. Some bar downtown, where there's chintzy lighting and the cocktails don't have any prices next to them."

"You don't know all of that," Eddie says, though his mouth has gone dry.

"And he's going to be talking to you, right?" Richie continues, ignoring the interruption. "Telling you how gorgeous you are, how he can't believe you're single. Then before you know it, he's going to have his hand on the back of the booth, and he's going to be leaning in toward you."

Richie starts to lean in as he says it, his hand cupping Eddie's face. His eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and eyes.

"And he's going to ask you if he can kiss you. That he's been thinking of doing it all night."

"Has he been thinking about it all night?"

"Oh, since the second he first saw you."

Eddie feels himself begin to tremor. He reaches up to grab Richie's hand, tell him maybe they should stop, but Richie shakes his head at him. Eddie instantly drops it, uses it to clench his fingers into his thigh instead.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't fucking faint. He opens them again when he hears Richie chuckling.

"Don't laugh at me, Richie!"

"I'm not laughing at you, dumb bunny," Richie says in a low, deep voice Eddie's never heard on him before, his thumb swiping down to brush against Eddie's bottom lip. "You're just so fucking cute that's all."

"I'm not cute," Eddie says, voice annoyingly shivery. "I'm a 40-year-old man."

"You're precious is what you are. And I told you to shut up, didn't I?"

Eddie nods, for some reason not even wanting to argue, his pulse rising to a sharp beat.

"Let me take care of you," Richie says, and then he's leaning in to press his lips against Eddie's.

The first touch of their lips isn't electrifying. It isn't groundbreaking. It isn't like in the movies, where two lovers are reunited and share the most passionate embrace. But it's so undeniably Richie: his taste, his touch, his smell, that everything inside Eddie falls apart. They kiss like that, with just the barest brush of their lips - _a virgin's kiss,_ a voice says at the back of Eddie's head - until Richie pulls back to look at him.

"Do you like that?" he asks against Eddie's mouth, breath hot against his lips.

Eddie, in a daze, can only say, "You have plum sauce on your mouth."

"What?" Richie pulls back. "Oh shit, sorry." He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Eddie stops him, pulling his hand down. "I do like it," he says.

"Again?" Richie asks. Eddie nods, lips still tingling from the kiss.

So Richie does, pushing against him a little more forcefully this time. Eddie sighs against him, feeling like he's about to dissolve in the feel and smell of Richie, his mouth so different to any of the women he's ever kissed, his chapped lips and stubble rough against his skin. And then Richie's pulling back again slightly to say, "Open your mouth, baby," as he presses his fingers to Eddie's lips, and the feeling of him opening Eddie's mouth before he has a chance to do it himself - like he's some doll, some toy for him to play with - has him gasping wetly.

"Good boy," Richie says, making Eddie whimper slightly. He pulls his fingers away, and Eddie's brain goes on complete shutdown as the tips of their tongues meet in the gap between their mouths. Eddie feels it everywhere, from the ends of his fingers to the floor of his tightening belly, an electric shock that pulses through him, making him moan. He realises with horror that he's getting hard, dick twitching in his shorts.

Eddie jumps away, "I-"

He doesn't have time to finish because Richie's pushing him against the back of the couch. And this this time it isn't the soft, insistent pressure from earlier, but a hard shove. Then Richie's mouth is back on his, and the only way Eddie can describe it to himself later is _hungrily,_ Richie's mouth shoving against his, wet and hard and insistent, slipping down to suck on Eddie's bottom lip like he's utterly ravenous.

Eddie's hands jump to Richie's shoulders, which feel tiny against the broad span of them, and he tries to push Richie away. Tries because he can't. He pushes and Richie doesn't even budge, too busy sucking hard on Eddie's bottom lip like it's candy, not even noticing how hard Eddie's trying to push him away. The lazy show of strength pulls at Eddie, heat pooling in his lower stomach, his dick getting even harder, as he realises that Richie could do whatever he likes with him. That Eddie wouldn't be able to stop him. The thought makes Eddie moan in the back of his mouth.

Without warning, Richie rips himself away, suddenly sitting back and staring at Eddie, eyes almost jet black.

"Shit, fuck, I'm sorry," he says, voice so raw it makes Eddie's skin immediately prickle.

Eddie's heartbeat thumps in his throat. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I got carried away." He runs a hand through his hair. "I should go," he says. 

"You don't have to-"

"I do. I have meetings in the morning and Todd'll kill me if I'm not there on time."

He stands, looking anywhere but at Eddie. His eyes are wild, and his t-shirt is crumpled from where Eddie had been digging in his fingers. "Do you want me to help you clean up?" he asks, though he looks like he wants to be anywhere but at Eddie's house right now.

"No, it's okay."

"I'm sorry. It's just getting late, you know?"

"Yeah," Eddie says quietly, as he starts picking up their plates. "I know."

Once Richie's gone, he dumps the plates and glasses in the kitchen. He thinks about having a bath or maybe going for a quick jog, but he's still hard in his shorts, and he knows there's only one thing that'll get that itch out from under his skin. Make him feel sane again.

In his room, Eddie gets his laptop out and clicks on the first bookmark in his browser. It's a link to Pornhub and as the website loads, he pauses the video to undress out of his shorts and t-shirt, folding them neatly before placing them on the chest of drawers next to his bed.

The video is one of his most watched: the one he brings up secretly in the middle of the night and sometimes in the morning. It's of a muscular, dark-haired man pushing a smaller guy into his bed, forcing his face down into the covers as he pulls his hips up, brutally fucking him from behind. _Tiny twink gets his ass destroyed_ the title of the video crows, but Eddie ignores that as usual, biting his lip as he clicks play. 

He goes rock hard almost instantly, the sound of high-pitched moans and slapping skin filling his room as he slicks his hand with lube and wraps it around his aching dick. The guy getting fucked in the video has a similar body shape to Eddie, and as he jerks off he thinks about being him, what it would feel like to be pushed into his bed like that and made to give anything the man on top of him wanted. Any position, any noise, anything he was told, because he wanted to prove how much of a good boy he could be. Not that there's anything especially striking about the man in the video, but at certain angles, his hair and jaw hit Eddie hard, the muscle along his shoulders and arms so much like Richie it makes him gasp.

And suddenly - where he'd usually fantasise about a man who'd picked him up in a bar or given him a ride home - it's Richie with his hand on his throat, curling around him as he fucks up into him from behind, Eddie's hole red and soaked with lube, Richie's huge, veined cock ramming into him so hard it pushes him up the bed. _"Fucking take that, you little bitch,"_ fantasy Richie snarls in his ear. _"Just lie there like a good boy while I wreck your tight ass. You're gonna be so fucking sloppy when I'm done with you, aren't you, baby? So loose and wet from riding my big dick."_

Eddie, feeling his orgasm build already, reaches between his legs and presses the pad of one finger to his hole. Not pushing in, but just pressing, circling it there as his dick drools precum down his hand. Relishing the pressure. Richie's finger would be much bigger he thinks. He'd be bigger and he wouldn't wait until Eddie was ready, wouldn't even stretch him out properly. He'd push it in and make him take it, make him take his fingers, then his tongue, then that thick, hard cock between his legs and not stop until he's coming inside- the fantasy cuts off as Eddie orgasms, his head eclipsing as he mewls high in his throat. His cock spurts needily, painting his stomach and hand with come, his toes curling from the force of it.

He lies there for a long time afterwards, chest heaving, head blissfully quiet after he's managed to x out of the video, when his phone goes off. He grapples around for his phone with an annoyed sigh, but almost drops it right on his face when he sees it's a notification from Richie.

 _Sorry I just bailed like that. I was an asshole_ , he's texted.

 _It's fine, I don't mind_ , Eddie finally replies.

_You okay?_

_Yeah._

Richie's already typing out his next response, and it comes a second after Eddie's. _I was thinking we should practise._

Eddie stares at his phone for a second before typing out, _What?_

_You were amazing, but we need to get more practise in. Show you how to use tongue properly._

Eddie, still shivery from coming and the feel of Richie's mouth, doesn't answer fast enough. Not before Richie's, _If you want to, I mean?_

Eddie almost drops his phone again as he types out _No, that sounds good, thank you._

_And the other stuff too._

_Other stuff?_

_Yeah you said you wanted help with kissing and "stuff"._

_oh yeah, that would be great, thanks,_ Eddie replies, fingers trembling so much it takes him three times to text it.

_np next week?_

_sounds good._

_Cool c u soon princess :)_

"Fuck," Eddie says to himself, scrubbing his hands against his face.

Eddie puts his phone and laptop away, and somehow finds his way into the bathroom to clean up. In the mirror he looks wrecked, his hair a mess and his bottom lip bitten raw. _Fuck_ , he thinks, as he wipes the come off his belly. He hasn't gotten off that hard since that night back in Derry. If a single kiss did that, how would doing other things with Richie feel? He shuts off that train of thought before it goes any further, busying himself with a hot shower. By the time he gets to bed, his thought are soft and heavy with the promise of sleep, but as he sinks against his pillow, he runs his finger across his bottom lip, thinking of how dark Richie's eyes had been. Of the axe. The blood. The way he'd said, _I'll look after you_ in the sewers. Eddie thinks of him as he falls under, and though he won't remember it the next morning, murmurs Richie's name in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this little thing when I needed a break from two longer fics I've been working on, both of which were weighing on me with their special combination of angst and violent love. We get so many fics where Richie is openly yearning for Eddie, so I wanted to do something that did the opposite, all inspired by a picture in my head of Richie messily eating a plate of ribs and Eddie finding him so gross, but also weirdly, savagely attractive. I'll be updating again when I've shared my next, longer fic.
> 
> You can come talk to me about my fics or just say hi on Tumblr at shortcake-kaspbrak


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